


With Every Breath

by twdsunshine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twdsunshine/pseuds/twdsunshine
Summary: The war is over and nobody knows whether Negan is dead or alive.  When the reader finds herself among the people that held her lover’s fate in their hands, will she get the answers she needs?





	With Every Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on an anonymous request for some Negan angst on Tumblr, so I hope it ticks that box. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ‘I just got recently into watching twd again and oh boi did i fall for Negan. I knew what was going to happen but damn watching the season finale of se8 gave me a lot of feels. If you’re in the mood could you write some angsty stuff about the reader not knowing if Negan is going to make it and some fluff afterwards. because they were secret lovers.’

****

The dread was icy cold.  It settled over you like being submerged in an inky black lake in the middle of winter, the chill sharp and needling at your skin as you fought to find your way out, to break the surface, only to realise that you had no clue which way was up anymore.  It all looked the same.  Every way you turned there was just more darkness and the cold… that damn, all-pervading cold.  It seeped into your bones, stiffening your joints so that it hurt to move, and formed frigid cages around your organs so that each beat of your heart was a painful struggle.  Except, if that was the case, if you’d really been drowning, then at some point you’d be blessed with death’s sweet release.  But there was no release from your pain.

It was the not knowing that was the worst part.  Had you known for certain that Negan was dead, you’d have been able to grieve.  It would have hurt, of course it would.  You loved the man more with every breath you took, but at least you would have known that his suffering was over, and you would have eventually found your peace with it.  But Rick had told his guy to save him, and the doctor had fallen to his knees at Negan’s side, pressing skilled hands to the broken skin of his throat to suppress the blood pumping from the wound, and begun to issue orders with the confidence of somebody that knew what they were doing.  Was it possible?  Could Negan have survived?  It was a horrific injury, a brutal attack, and you were sure he would have bled out far quicker than anybody could have done anything to prevent it, but there was that tiny flicker of doubt in your mind that just couldn’t let go of the hope that, somewhere, Negan was alive.

Of course, Rick and his people were keeping that secret under wraps.  All anybody had been told was that your leader was gone and that it was time for a new world order now.  Fall in line and get the hell out of the way seemed to be the party line and, for lack of any better options, you’d done just that.  At least, if you were still there, part of the network of communities that was being built at that very moment, you’d hear any news that filtered down the grapevine, and you found yourself on the alert every day, ears pricked, hoping to pick up on something, anything, that might tell you of Negan’s fate.  But there was nothing.  Literally nothing.  It was as though he’d fallen off the face of the earth and all you could do was hope that, wherever he was, dead or alive, he was okay.

Around you, the Saviors and the workers were getting on with their lives.  Undercurrents of resentment still ran through some of the more deeply committed, but, for the most part, as long as they still had a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, people weren’t all that bothered whose rules they were playing by.  It felt like the worst kind of betrayal, or so you’d thought.  That had been until you’d seen the wives, the ones that should have been openly grieving their loss, weeping and wringing their hands like respectable widows.  Instead they seemed to be revelling in their freedom, thriving in Negan’s absence, and you hated them for it.  You would have loved to have been able to sob openly, to scream your pain out for the world to hear, but nobody would understand.  Nobody had known about the two of you: the secret moments stolen in the early hours when he’d creep into your room and wrap you up in his arms; the way he’d chant your name as his body jerked and trembled with his release; the way he’d whisper all of his fears and doubts to you through the darkness, until the morning rolled around and he had to assume his role once again.  So, they couldn’t possibly understand.  Nobody else had loved him like you did.

It had been chance really that got you assigned to the team tasked with lending a hand with Alexandria’s rebuild.  They’d shied away from using the Sanctuary’s workforce to start with, but, as Rosita had explained, they were on a deadline for getting the gardens planted if they wanted a decent yield from their crops, and so it was all hands on desk, and that meant a dozen or so men and women from the factory being selected to make the journey.  Of course, you’d seen the place before, when it had been a jumble of smoking ruins, as the Saviors had sought to drive the survivors inside out, but you were taken aback as the cart rolled through the gates, revealing to you just what the community had accomplished in the months since Negan had been overthrown.  Banks of solar panels glinted in the sunlight, soaking up the golden rays and churning out sweet, sweet energy.  Most of the houses were in the later stages of reconstruction, though the church was still a wreck, and the people around you looked contented, maybe even happy.  It was a far cry from what your home had become.

Still, you’d knuckled down to the job you’d been assigned, digging into the earth, dark and moist and rich with nutrients, and planting the seeds that would feed Alexandria’s families.  It was dirty work, and by the end of each day your back ached, your knees complaining, and you’d fall into your tent, exhausted.  But still you’d dream.  You could smell his whiskey-leather scent, and hear that honeyed voice as he drawled sweet nothings in your ear, and feel his weight shifting on top of you, and for those hours of rest it was as if you had him back, real and solid and yours.  And then the call for breakfast would drag you back to consciousness and reality would come crashing down once again, wearing on you a little more each and every time, until you were sure that soon there’d be nothing left.

 

* * *

 

It was on a particularly bad day, after a night spent, not reliving what it felt like to lose yourself in Negan and breathe him in, but how it had felt to watch him choke on his own blood as Rick stood over him, that you finally fell apart.  You weren’t entirely sure what even triggered the breakdown.  One minute you’d been busy building trellises for the vines to wind themselves around as they grew, and the next you’d been lost in a maze of dizzying emotion, your walls crumbling as wave after wave of choking sobs broke over you.  You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t do anything but shake and cry and clutch at your heart as though it might force its way out of your chest.

‘What the hell’s going on here?’  Rick had been doing a routine check on the workers when he’d seen you losing your mind and, when your comrades had shaken their heads, eyes wide with confusion, he’d wrapped his hand around your arm, easing you to your feet and guiding you… where?  You didn’t know, didn’t care, were barely even aware that you were moving until you were being settled in a comfortable chair in a sterile looking room, away from the buzz of the outside world.

‘Rick?  What’s going on?’  Another voice broke through your cage of misery, and through your tears you could just make out another figure hovering in the doorway of the room.

‘Not sure.  She just… fell apart.’

‘Is she hurt?’  You felt Rick shrug beside you, fingers brushing your shoulder as he gestured with his hands.  He had no idea.  Of course he didn’t.  No-one did.  ‘Okay.  Leave it with me.  I’ll clean her up, see if I can get to the bottom of it.’

It wasn’t until Rick had disappeared and a damp cloth had been run over your face, wiping away your tears, though more hurried to replace them, that you realised who it was that was caring for you.  The doctor.  The same one from the battlefield that had been charged with saving Negan’s life.  His eyes were kind as he crouched before you, raking over your body for any sign of injury and, when you swallowed back the next sob that fought its way up your throat, he gave a small nod.

‘See, that’s better.’  He offered you another cloth that had been tucked into his pocket and you took it gratefully.  ‘You gonna tell me what happened?  Are you injured?’

‘No.’  You shook your head, twisting the cloth between your fingers.  ‘No, I-I’m sorry.  I just…  I can’t…’  You swallowed hard, taking a moment to collect yourself before you went on.  ‘You’re the doctor here, right?’

Despite the fact that you were quite obviously sitting in some kind of makeshift infirmary and it was probably a stupid question, he nodded.  ‘That’s right.  Siddiq.’

‘Y/N,’ you offered weakly.  

‘You can talk to me, Y/N.  Whatever it is, you can tell me.  I might be able to help.’

You weren’t sure he’d be so willing when you made your request, so you played for time, building up to the question that you so desperately needed to ask.  ‘You were there that day, weren’t you?  On the battlefield?’

If his face clouded over, it was only for a split second, before he nodded again, maintaining his professional nonchalance.  ‘That’s right.  You were there, too?’

‘Yeah.’  You dropped your gaze to the floor, wondering if even worrying about the fate of your old leader was enough to get you executed under the new regime.  ‘You were the one that Rick- that Rick asked to save him.  He told you to save Negan’s life.’

‘He did.’  Siddiq’s voice gave nothing away, and you forced yourself to look up and meet his eyes, studying his face for any sign of dishonesty.

‘Did you?’

He pushed himself to his feet, turning his back on you as he crossed the room to a cupboard mounted on the far wall and pulled out a bottle of water.  His silence only frustrated you and you pressed on, refusing to be deterred.

‘I-I’m not asking because I want him back in charge, I swear.  I know we lost, I get that, and I know we work for Rick now, or Rosita, or Daryl, or… whoever the hell tells me to do something, I pretty much just do it these days, y’know?’

‘So, why do you need to know?’

‘Because I love him.’

He held your gaze for a moment, and you could practically see him processing the information in his head, before he seemed to make a decision and backed towards the door.  ‘Give me a minute, okay?’

He disappeared and you let your head fall back against the chair you were sitting in, wrapping your arms around you to fend off the non-existent chill that you seemed to live with.  This was it, your only chance, and it was starting to seem like you’d blown it.  Tears pricked at your eyes again, and you blinked them away, determined to hold it together until you could find some time alone.  It was bad enough that these people had seen you cry once.  You’d be damned if you’d let them see it a second time.

 

* * *

 

When Siddiq eventually returned, after what felt like an age, during which time you distracted yourself by counting your breaths, holding the air deep in your lungs and letting it soothe your fraught nerves, he wasn’t alone.  Behind him was a tall, dark-skinned lady with dreadlocks that were swept back from her face and a stern expression.  Michonne.  You knew her by name only, having had no contact with her previously, but you also knew that she was Rick’s other half and would probably look on your request with little feeling.

‘Michonne, this is Y/N.’  The doctor sought to break the tension that had sprung up since the other woman had entered the room.  ‘She has some questions and, I’m not sure, but I think you might be the best person to answer them.’  When neither of you spoke, he began to inch towards the door again, shooting you a tight smile as his fingers came to rest on the handle.  ‘I have other patients to check on.  I’ll leave the two of you alone.’

The click of the door closing seemed disproportionately loud in the small room, and you exhaled heavily, running a hand through your hair as Michonne moved to lean against the opposite wall, fixing you with a steely glare.  ‘Siddiq said you were asking about Negan.  That true?’

‘Yes.’  Your voice was quiet, barely a whimper, and you cursed yourself for letting her intimidate you.  ‘Yes, that’s true.  I just want to know if he’s alive or dead, really.  That’s all I want.’

‘Why?’

‘What?’

‘Why is it so important to you?’  Her hand came up to rest on the katana that was slung across her back, smoothing over the handle, and you wondered whether she was picturing running it through your chest.  

‘He was my… I mean, we were…’  There was no word for what he’d been to you.  You weren’t one of the women that had called him their husband in return for special privileges, and yet boyfriend sounded too juvenile, insufficient to describe exactly what it was that he meant to you.  ‘I love him,’ you settled on at last, trying to ignore her withering look.  ‘We were together.  Actually together, I mean.  Not like his harem.’

When Michonne didn’t speak, you went on.

‘I was there at the last battle, when Rick slit his throat.  I saw him bleeding out, and then I saw Siddiq trying to save him, but I-I don’t know what happened then.  And I know, I know it’s over.  I know that we work for you now, and I’m okay with that, really, I am, but I just… I just need to know, please.  I need to know what happened to him.’

Her eyes narrowed and she pushed herself away from the wall, crossing over to the small window several feet away from you and peering out between the slats of the blind, letting sunlight filter into the room.  ‘What were you?  Before?’

‘At the Sanctuary you mean?’  

‘No, before that.  Before all of this.’

‘I was a teacher,’ you told her, confused by her line of questioning.

‘What age?’

‘First grade, mostly.’

‘You liked it?’

‘Loved it.’  She turned to look at you and you shrugged.  ‘Feels like a lifetime ago.’

‘You have family?’

‘I did.  I was close with my sister, before…  And my folks.  We were pretty tight-knit.’

‘No husband?’

‘No.  Never found anyone I liked enough.  Not ‘til…’  You tailed off.  Not until Negan.  He was the first man you’d ever loved, the only man you thought you ever would love, but you didn’t think she’d take kindly to hearing that.

‘You seem like you were a good person.’  It was an observation, said without feeling, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.  ‘How does a good person end up working for a man like Negan?’ she went on.  ‘How does a good person end up falling in love with a man like that?’

‘He’s not the monster you make him out to be,’ you protested weakly.  ‘We’ve all done things, things we never thought we could, to survive, to protect our friends.  Negan, he found me out there alone, on my last legs, and he gave me food and shelter and a place to call home again.  It had been a long time since I’d had that.  Honestly, I would’ve done anything for him after that.’

‘He bought your loyalty with material things.’

‘He saved my life.’

She scoffed, but something in her expression softened.  ‘Okay, fine.  I can accept that.  Maybe even understand it.  But I still don’t understand how a sensible girl like you ends up with a man like him.’

‘We can’t help who we fall in love with,’ you murmured, a smile quirking your lips as you remembered saying that exact same thing to him, not long before you’d lost him, perhaps forever.  ‘I mean, c’mon, I know Rick’s like a hero to you guys, and I’m sure he’s as good a man as any these days, but it can’t be easy, loving him, sticking by him with all the shit that goes with it.  There must be times when you’ve questioned him, his decisions.’

A nod.  Almost imperceptible but it was there.

‘But you still love him.  It’s not something you can help.’  You were bored of talking.  You were done sharing.  You wanted your answer and you still weren’t convinced that she was going to give it to you.  ‘Look, if you’re not going to help me, I’m just gonna go back to work, okay?  I feel better now.’

You levered yourself upright and went to move past her, heading for the door, but her fingers wrapped tightly around your arm, just above your elbow, halting you in your tracks.  ‘Come with me.’

 

* * *

 

‘I’m doing this for you, not for him.  You have five minutes.’  Michonne nodded at the door in front of you, and you swallowed hard as you took a step towards it, reaching for the handle and letting it swing open.  She hadn’t said a word as she’d led you out of the infirmary, through the streets, and into a nondescript house, past a thickly-set man sitting on the porch steps.  You’d followed her down a narrow set of stairs towards, you assumed the basement, and watched as she’d pulled a key from her pocket to unlock the door you now stepped through, letting it fall closed behind you.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the gloom.  You were mostly underground here, only a small window set high up in the wall letting any light into the room, but you could just about make out the thick metal bars that divided the space in half.  Movement just beyond them coaxed you forward, and a choked gasp escaped you as a lean figure rose up from the floor.

‘Negan?’

You crossed the room in two steps, throwing yourself against the cage, your arms snaking inside and reaching out to him.  And then he was there, feeling thin and fragile in your embrace, his body warm as you held him, cursing the bars for stopping you from wrapping yourself around him completely.

‘Y/N?  Shit, doll, what the fuck are you doing down here?  If they find you-’

‘It’s okay,’ you hushed him, pulling back to study his face, his hair shorn, his beard longer than you’d ever seen it.  ‘It’s okay, baby.  Michonne brought me here.  Sh-she knows about us.  I had to tell her, I had to ask, to find out if you were-’

‘Oh sweetheart.’  He’d sensed the emotion threatening to overwhelm you and drag you under once again, and large calloused hands cupped your face, wiping away the tears that were trailing from your eyes.  ‘Oh, baby girl, I’m so sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry for everything.’

‘I didn’t know, Negan.  I didn’t know if you were dead or alive or-’

‘I know.  I know.  It’s okay.’  He dragged you forward until the bars dug almost painfully into your cheeks, so he could press his lips to yours, urgently, and you whimpered at the familiar taste of him, wishing you could bottle the sensations that the simplest touch unleashed inside of you, to take out at the dark moments of the night when you felt most bereft.  ‘I’m okay.’

‘Are you?’  Your fingers found his throat, tracing over the raised skin where his wound had scarred, and you inhaled shakily.

‘I am.  I promise you, doll.’  Chocolate irises locked with yours and you nodded slowly.  ‘Missed you though.  Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.’

‘I’ve missed you, too.’

‘Really?’

‘With every breath.’

A sad smile tugged at his lips and his arms slipped around you again, his nose resting against your hair as he breathed in your scent.  ‘You know what I can’t stop thinking about?’

You shook your head.  ‘No.’

‘How much fucking time I wasted, keeping secrets, wanting to keep this thing between us under wraps.  It was dumb as shit, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I put you through that.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he shut you down.  ‘If I could do everything over again, I’d do it all fucking differently, I swear.  I’d take you the day that I found you, and I’d leave with you and never look back.  And I’d spend every day for the rest of my life making you happy.’

‘I love you.’  Your voice wavered, and his hold on you tightened, the metal biting into your chest as he clung to you.  ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you.’

The moment was interrupted when the door behind you swung open, and Michonne’s voice called through from the hallway outside.  ‘Time’s up.’

‘Shit.’  You shook your head, not ready to say goodbye, not ready to leave him just yet.  ‘No, I-’

‘It’s alright, princess.  You have to go.’

‘No, it’s not alright, Negan.  I-’

‘Go.  I’ll be fine.’

‘But I won’t.’

‘You will.  You’re fucking strong, sweetheart.  You can do this.’

‘I’ll come back, I will, I promise.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

‘I will.  Do you trust me?’

‘With my fucking life.’

‘Then I’ll come back, okay?’

‘Y/N,’ Michonne called from the hall, and you took a step back, your fingers lacing with Negan’s as he reached out to you.  

‘Go, doll.’

‘I promise.’

And you knew that you would.  You would do whatever it took to see him again, to feel his arms around you and his mouth on yours.  You would fight with everything you had to get some sort of access to the man you loved and, if they refused to give it to you, then you’d bide your time and break him the hell out of there.  You could run away together, just like he’d said, and build a new life, one without war and secrets and rules.  Just you and him.  And you’d treasure it with every breath you took.  As Michonne stepped back to let you pass, locking the door behind you, you made that promise to yourself, and it was with a lighter heart that you went back to work.  Negan was alive and now, so was your hope.


End file.
